


Intricate Rituals

by fangirlingacrosstheuniverse



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Introspection, M/M, Meta, Mostly the aftermath of the hurt (just canon stuff) and them comforting each other afterwards), Mutual Pining, Telepathy, Touch Telepathy, Two idiots trying their best to look after each other, i guess, mentions of past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22385395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlingacrosstheuniverse/pseuds/fangirlingacrosstheuniverse
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley spent 6000 years pining after each other. But now that the Apocalypse didn't happen, they may have to actually face their feelings.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), aziraphale - Relationship
Comments: 14
Kudos: 108





	1. Voice of God (Chapter One: Setting the Stage)

Even prior to the apocalypse, they were extremely tactile with each other. 

Neither of them would admit to their frequent physical contact being anything other than a coincidence; they’d built themselves cocoons of plausible deniability. 

Then the Apocalypse didn’t happen, and all their carefully built walls came tumbling down.

Handshakes, Crowley’s hand on Aziraphale’s back ushering him into the Bentley, thighs touching as they sat on their park bench, each of them trying to make it appear accidental. All these ‘innocuous’ touches throughout the centuries built up, of course, until they became completely subconscious—an accepted part of their relationship dynamic.

All in the spirit of keeping up appearances; they had a perfectly credible explanation for every miracle that was countered a little too easily, every lingering glance, and every touch (should their respective employers ever ask). 

For example, when the cravat was popular, Aziraphale fell into the habit of adjusting Crowley’s. This habit has stayed even as the cravat went out of style, and has continued with the advent of new fashion until neither thinks anything of Aziraphale tutting quietly and adjusting Crowley’s collar, or tie, or (once, memorably) his fashionable choker. 

If, for his part, Crowley ‘forgets’ to check his collar, or ‘accidentally’ flicks it up when he sees Aziraphale…well. It has become so well established as part of their dynamic as to seem wholly unremarkable. 

Crowley, meanwhile, has taken to feeding Aziraphale, absentmindedly holding a spoon or fork to his lips during a meal, or when the angel’s hands are occupied with a book. 

The first time it happened, Aziraphale was too preoccupied to notice Crowley feeding him pieces of cake as he read his book. By the fiftieth time it happened, he decided it was too late to mention it and it became yet another unspoken part of the thing between them. Which was, Anathema laughingly pointed out later, an incredibly human thing thing for them to have done. 

Like most of their interactions, this behaviour skirts the line of plausible deniability only because both Crowley and Aziraphale remain firmly in denial (not just a River in Egypt!).

Despite their many little intricate rituals designed to get closer to each other while still firmly maintaining a (more or less) plausible veneer of deniability, they rarely have actual skin to skin contact.

On the occasions they do brush skin, they pull away quickly, pretending not to have noticed. Both are aware that skin contact crosses a line, though neither is sure exactly what that line is, who drew it, and why they bother to toe it when they casually flaunt so many others. 

Though they’ve become accustomed to casual physical contact, skin on skin contact seems somehow… more. 

Especially purposeful, lingering touches. An accidental brush of hands is like a small static charge—electric, but brief enough to be almost ignored. Longer, purposeful touching- for example, holding hands and concentrating in order to swap bodies - tends to go a bit differently. The possible side effects are rarely predictable... especially for Crowley and Aziraphale themselves. 

Even after thousands of years of knowing each other, the ineffable pair sometimes have trouble figuring out the right path to take… but everyone does, so we can’t blame them. 

All according to My plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the 2019 Good Omens Big Bang. The amazing art at the start of this chapter is by Pangaea Starseed on tumblr. Go check them out! And my beta for this fic was bisaster di, who was a fucking god send through the process.


	2. Crowley (Getting Together, Part One)

Crowley made the trek to Hell for a progress briefing once a decade, every decade, for 6000 years. The trip was long and unpleasant, but it had to be done. Anything to keep his fellow demons from becoming suspicious about his behaviour on Earth. The more separate he could keep his two lives, the better. Especially as he started to feel, more and more, like his real home was with the humans. With Aziraphale.

Every time he walked through the filthy basement levels of Hell, he tried to hide his disdain at the level of squalor the other demons live in, apparently resigned to their lot. He tries now, all these centuries later, to think of a time when he felt as comfortable with the dim lighting, cramped, squalid conditions, and general low standard of living of Hell as Beelzebub, or Hastur and Ligur, or Dagon seemed to be, but he can’t. 

Compared to the vibrancy of life on Earth, Hell seems dull and faded.

Being surrounded by the other demons feels monotonous in the way the fleeting nature of life on Earth never could. Not to mention how it feels to spend time with Aziraphale. It’s a cliche, but the angel really does light up a room with his presence. The stupidest, overly flowery human sayings… they all really do apply to Aziraphale. 

The angel is ridiculous, and arrogant, and vain, and Crowley wants nothing more than to bask in his presence for as long as possible. For eternity, if he can manage it.

Demons are supposed to overindulge in all the worst that humanity has to offer. And sure, Crowley's done his fair share of indulging in stupid human behaviours (like reading Youtube comment sections and gambling on hermit crab races). But he's never felt the same love for the human vices of food and clothing that Azirpahale does. 

Then again, watching Aziraphale lick the remnants of the little dessert tart he just finished, he thinks that perhaps no one feels the same way about food as Aziraphale does. He feels a bit faint around the edges as he watches Aziraphale swirl his tongue around the fork Crowley still holds. He almost groans audibly. Surely the angel knows what he looks like? 

Then he’s annoyed with himself again. Call yourself a demon? His inner voice (which sounds disturbingly like Duke Hastur, another part of him notes) rants. A proper demon would never get distracted by such base temptations. A demon can appreciate a good carnal or simple temptation, but they certainly shouldn’t find themselves on the receiving end of it! 

But then, Crowley has never exactly been what could be considered a ‘proper’ demon. Not good enough for Heaven, not bad enough for Hell. He never quite fit in anywhere; he’s always on the outside looking in. And over the centuries he’s come to accept (more or less—generally less) that the one thing that he does indulge in, completely give himself over to in that mindless way the demons mock the humans for, is Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale, with his goody two shoes persona,  _ and _ his addiction to all those mortal vices,  _ and _ his stupid amazing fluffy hair,  _ and _ his lame bookshop…

Aziraphale is Crowley’s weakness. His Kryptonite, as the humans would say. Finally, he’s become a proper demon; indulging in something as bad for him as Aziraphale. He had a feeling, and maybe it was overly optimistic, that Aziraphale felt the same way about him as he did about Aziraphale… but Aziraphale also had a keen sense of the danger indulging in their shared feelings would put them in. 

Once, Aziraphale had explained his fear to him. They were both drunk, sitting in the bookshop in the aftermath of a visit from Gabriel. It had been almost too close; Crowley had smelt his arrival, sharp scent of ozone in his nose. He’d panicked and changed into his snake form to slither under a shelf and out of sight. He stayed under the bookshelf, forced to remain still and quiet as the archangel threatened his angel. 

He hated having to just sit there and listen to to Aziraphale being insulted, and he wished he could have done something about it.

Afterwards, he said as much to Aziraphale, who had given him an unusually serious look. “You don’t understand. If Heaven knew about us, they would kill you.” Crowley shook his head, though not in disagreement- he of all people knew how ruthless Heaven could be. He just didn’t want to hear what Aziraphale was saying. But Aziraphale continued on, heedless of Crowley’s anguish.

“You wouldn’t just be temporarily discorporated. You’d be gone. Forever. I would never never see you again, and it would be because of my own selfishness.” 

After that, it had been all Crowley could do to stop Aziraphale pushing him out forever, hiding himself away for Crowley’s safety. 

And that’s another thing; Aziraphale wants to protect him. The thought creates a warm glow inside him, and he focuses on it when the pain of not being with Aziraphale is too much. When he hasn’t seen him in decades; when he sees a book he knows would be perfect for Aziraphale’s collection and has to miracle it onto the bookshop’s doorstep instead of being able to give it to him in person, and whenever he sees a couple together in public- holding hands, laughing together, leaning against each other. The casual intimacy he craves, at once a brief miracle away and impossible to reach.

Aziraphale doesn’t realise that being separated from him, losing the warmth of the certainty that they would do anything for each other- that would kill Crowley. 

But he doesn’t want to scare Aziraphale away, so he takes what he can get. Aziraphale’s attention comes in dribs and drabs- a lunch in feudal Japan, a brief meeting in the Egyptian Empire - and he drinks it up like a desert flower. 

Wanting something he can never, ever have is exactly the sort of painful dramatic irony demons thrive on. Finally, he’s a proper demon, but Hell can never, ever find out. Because the consequences don’t bear thinking about. 

And then the apocalypse starts, with a baby, and they have to go undercover, and it all just keeps coming, and normally Crowley just rolls with the (sometimes literal) punches, but this time… 

First, Aziraphale refused to run away with him. He really should have known better than to hope, but some part of him- the small, hopeful part he usually kept buried- couldn’t help but raise his hopes. 

And then that awful argument on the street, and they were both so angry, and so scared, and they said things they shouldn’t have, and then that terrible awful moment when he tried to find Aziraphale and instead found his bookshop on fire. The bookshop, though technically nothing more than a building, was so quintessentially Aziraphale that Crowley had grown to conflate the two. Seeing it on fire, imagining Aziraphale dead by the hand of either Heaven or Hell, or both… something inside him had snapped. 

And even when he saw him at the bar, half transparent like a reflection on a lake, and then at the airbase in that colourful woman’s body, and it turned out he had only been discorporated, and he’s fine, but- but it isn’t fine, not to Crowley. Not really. 

It’s too much.

He almost lost his best friend. 

After 6000 years, Heaven almost took Aziraphale from him because of some witchfinder sergeant who was too stupid to recognise an angel when one stood right in front of him. After all those years of fear, of hiding from both sides, what finally got through all their defenses and hurt Aziraphale was the stupidest human Crowley had ever met. 

Crowley can’t let that ever happen again. He can’t- won’t - see Aziraphale hurt like that ever,  _ ever  _ again. He agrees straight away to the plan to swap faces. Even if they get found out, it’s worth it if he manages to keep Aziraphale alive just a little longer. 

But their little scheme works out better than he ever dreamed (and if he took a little too much pleasure in scaring the archangels who kept his angel downtrodden for so long, that’s between him and Aziraphale) and they are finally left alone to live their lives on Earth in peace. 

Together. Properly together, the way it always should have been.

Nothing and no one in their way.

Crowley and Aziraphale against, not the world, but against Heaven and Hell. Nothing and no one can stand in their way, not anymore. It feels like they’ve been fighting an unwinnable battle, pushing Sisyphus’s boulder up the mountain, only to find they’ve unexpectedly reached the top and it’s started rolling down the other side. Now they’re moving at lightning speed, and he’s left playing catch up.

Instead of a painfully slow dance around each other, all the emotions he’s been trying to shove down for millenia are rushing up and demanding to be felt. Their relationship has just been pushed into overdrive mode. They've gone from seeing each other once a decade at most, trying to avoid the slightest hint of suspicion, to being able to see each other whenever they want. 

And the things they  _ know  _ now.

He always assumed that pursuing a relationship with Aziraphale (the enemy, Beelzebub never hesitated to remind him) was against the great plan. Oh, lust is all fine and good for demons; par for the course even. No one could expect demons, of all people to resist the temptation of sampling the wares. But love? Real, proper love based on respect and understanding? That’s an entirely different kettle of fish.

If they knew, Beelzebub would remove him from Earth he would leave a Crowley shaped hole in the world, like one of those silly cartoons.

Not that he’s in love with Aziraphale; the very idea is ridiculous.

Love is for humans, and occasionally overly dramatic angels, not for demons.

And besides, demons and angels are opposing forces. 

The very idea goes against the Great Plan in every way possible.

But… maybe not against the ineffable plan. 

Just maybe… just maybe they’ve done the right thing. 

Whatever the right thing can be said to be, given the state of the universe. 

Given that ‘the right thing to do’ will probably never be confirmed, given that God is a sneaky manipulative deity who never shows all Her cards. But if he’s right… and he hopes he is, then… then he’s in the right. The ineffable plan is on their side, and he and Aziraphale can finally be together. They faced down the forces of Heaven and Hell together. Now it’s time for the final barriers to come down.


	3. Aziraphale  (Getting together, Part Two)

As he tilted his hat and walked from the courtroom, Aziraphale felt his steps weighed down. Mr. Wilde deserved better than jail. Being jailed just for existing… for all his apparent freedom on Earth, that’s a feeling Aziraphale understands only too well. Aziraphale isn’t exactly gay, as he isn’t exactly a man. His choice of body is entirely personal preference. However, he refuses to believe that a human should be locked up for daring to simply exist as he truly is, refusing to quietly and politely be complicit in his own destruction.

Nor does he consider himself bi, or LGBT, or even queer; these sorts of label have even less relevance for divine beings than for humans. 

He understands that this isn’t true for everyone, but he himself has had enough of labels. Too many millennia of being casually insulted every time he turned around; he learned a long time ago to simply let labels slip by him, like water off a duck’s back. Labels, to Aziraphale, feel uncomfortably like a cage of expectations placed around him by otherwise well meaning people. He can’t help but draw parallels with his own experiences. 

Spending time with humans has always drawn him like a magnet; the nature of their fleeting lifespans means they live so much more in the time allotted than any of the immortals he knows. But he has to say, some of his all time favourite humans are the minorities who have formed their own communities out of necessity. One of the best examples of this is the queer or LGBT communities he’s encountered throughout history.

He has always enjoyed spending time with queer people because they are not limited by the constraints of polite society. There’s a wildness to them, a freedom, and yes, even a recklessness that he can’t help but imagine for himself. Quietly though, and never for very long. 

The communities formed by these people who have so often been rejected by the rest of polite society have always fascinated him, and he doesn’t exactly mind if they choose to see him as one of them. 

For his purpose (which, if asked, is something like supporting the downtrodden but which actually leans closer to needing acceptance from someone, anyone), that is enough. If he relates, maybe a little too much, to the idea of loving someone you can't have because of the rules of your society... well, that's his business. No one else needs to know. 

His bookshop has inadvertently become a safe haven for those who feel like outcasts for whatever reason. He’s never told the teenagers with the small rainbow symbols, or the nice older lady who can only communicate with hand signals (an entire language! of hand symbols! for people who can’t speak! Humans really are fascinating), or the young couple who just recently adopted their first child and brought the child in to meet Aziraphale, but he gains strength and inspiration from them more than they’ve gained from anything material he’s ever offered them. Shelter, money, fudged papers; anything and everything he’s ever given to these humans has been repaid tenfold by the richness of their world and the lives they choose to share with him and each other. 

That same feeling of community is part of what initially drew him to Crowley. In a way, they’re both misfits. Exiled to Earth, away from their own people (not that either angel nor demon particularly missed or even liked his own people) - is it really any wonder that they found each other, both so far from home?

But time passes, as it inevitably does, and the 20th Century brings new challenges. Whereas before gentlemen’s clubs had been kept private by mutual unspoken agreement, now they’re starting to become less and less… quiet. He’s happy for the humans who no longer have to hide, but given that he will always have to hide his not-quite-relationship with Crowley for fear of the consequences, he can’t help but feel a little bitter. 

Rather than people quietly assuming he and Crowley are together, people start to call them out on it. The term ‘boyfriend’ is used, both by people who know them and people who don’t. He is always taken a little aback by it—not because he finds the term in any way offensive; rather because he knows that they can never have that sort of ‘official’ relationship. All their interactions are limited to brief sightings and ‘accidental’ meetings- all (by necessity) shrouded in deception. 

Sometimes, though, when they’re mistaken for a couple, and neither of them denies it immediately, he likes to… pretend. Just quietly, just to himself. But he knows this is how it has to be.

Angels and demons just aren’t compatible. They’re the star crossed lovers from Hell. Or Heaven, as the case may be.

And it worries him because if the humans are noticing… could Heaven and Hell be noticing as well? 

Sometimes they relax a little too much, and push their luck a little too far: Aziraphale is in the Bentley when Crowley gets a message from Hell and he has to sit in complete silence, making sure he can’t be heard and found out, or Crowley lurks behind a shelf in the shop, disguised as a snake, while Aziraphale debriefs with Gabriel. They laugh about these encounters afterwards, but the laughter is edged with fear. They both know they are skating on the razor’s edge. Every near miss, every time they ‘just happen to run into each other’, he worries all the more. Are they just around the corner? Are the forces of Hell planning to drag Crowley away and torture him for Aziraphale’s crimes? Would the forces of Heaven destroy them both, permanently? 

He knows better than anyone what the wrath of Heaven can look like.

He pulls away from Crowley, trying to make things (easier) safer for both of them. He tries to refuse Crowley holy water, pushing him away, but realises, to his horror, that he can’t deny Crowley anything—that he doesn’t want to ever deny Crowley anything. 

He hands over the holy water, desperately trying to convince himself he’s done the right thing, and the next time he sees Crowley is Armageddon. 

Well. Eleven years before Armageddon; the beginning of the end. Crowley calls to warn him, and he can’t help but feel a rush of affection. Amidst the sheer terror, that is.

Panic grips him, a vice squeezing tight around the human heart he doesn’t need, at the thought of losing his connection to the Earth and its people. After having this, sitting around Heaven would never be enough. As always seems to be the case, he hadn’t realised how deeply he attached himself to the world, its people, and Crowley specifically. Aziraphale never realised how firmly entrenched Crowley was in his life, until Earth and the life they share in the one neutral place in the universe, the one place they can be together without Heaven or Hell, is staring destruction in the face. 

He always denied the depth of his feelings for Crowley, until the day of the Apocalypse, when everything’s falling apart, and then suddenly he can’t deny anything anymore. 

“Don't think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will help you. He's in trouble too." 

There’s no denying the fear that courses through him at that, almost buckling his knees. But his main fear isn’t for himself, or even his life on Earth, but for Crowley. 

Has Hell taken Crowley? Are they, right now, torturing him?  _ What are they doing to Crowley?  _

He has to persevere, though. 

Surely if he can just get through to the Almighty. 

Surely She will reveal her plan and save Her precious humans. 

Surely,  _ surely  _ She hasn't just given up on them entirely. That’s too rough even for a God who would drown a continent to make Her point.

It’s not until much later, standing on the tarmac of an airbase in Tadfield, that he realises that, even internally, he never denied the word boyfriend and the implication of a more intimate relationship. What’s more, clearly the other angels already knew about their relationship. They certainly weren’t as surprised as they should have been, if he’d hidden it as successfully as he thought he had. As he and Crowley stare down Satan, protected only by the will of an eleven year old boy, he wants to kick himself. 

Given how Heaven reacted after the Apocalypse started - when they didn’t need his role on Earth anymore - even with his all his caution over the millenia, maybe he should have thrown caution to the wind and pursued a relationship with Crowley anyway. 

Now he may never get the chance. Regret courses through him at the time he wasted. 

On the heels of the regret though, comes a new sensation. Stronger, fluttering behind his breastbone. Watching the sheer audacity of the eleven year old, powerless,  _ human _ Adam face down the forces of Heaven and Hell has awakened something in him, and the part of him that is terrified of consequences gets quieter and quieter.

“Do something or I’ll never talk to you again.” He challenges Crowley, not willing to let the spark of independence, of courage, of  _ free will _ in Crowley die, not when he’s finally found his own. 

He realises what it is; he is no longer willing to just accept the status quo. Even if that means going against everything he’s ever known. If maintaining the status quo means the loss of everything Aziraphale holds dear, the status quo has to be broken. And Aziraphale will help to break it. 

Finally, after so many millennia, he has become more than just an instrument of God’s divine plan; he has become a part of the plan in a way he never was before. He’s become more human—he can now affect the great story of human existence. 

And he  _ will not  _ let that story finish like this, in a pointless showdown between Heaven and Hell.

He has finally embraced his own free will. He flexes it like a muscle, feeling his horizons broaden in ways he never understood before. The spark of rebellion grows stronger inside him as Crowley meets his gaze, and he feels the last lingering threads of Heaven’s control over him break and fall away. His life is his own. The ineffable plan is  _ not _ the same as the great plan, so even if anything he does is predestined, it doesn’t matter. 

He deserves to choose. 

And he chooses Crowley. Finally, consciously, he chooses to side with the humans, and with Crowley. 

_ Our side. _

The rightness of those words fills him, gives him a solid base of faith to stand on for the first time since he gave away his flaming sword for no better reason than because two humans needed it. He stands side by side with a demon, the antichrist, and a motley assortment of humans. For the first time, he's feeling that righteous burning clarity Michael always talks about and he  _ knows  _ that he is doing the right thing. He seizes that feeling and it spreads throughout his body, and he’s never felt more alive.

Adam manages to accomplish the impossible. The Apocalypse never happens, and they all go home, and he feels that same satisfaction later as he makes the archangel Michael miracle him a towel while all the denizens of Hell look on. 

Later, sitting on a park bench after tricking Heaven and Hell, they clasp hands, and Aziraphale feels the inarguably strange sensation of his essence flowing down his arm, out of Crowley’s body and back into his own. He stretches a bit, feeling the familiarity settle back in. After a day in Crowley’s body, being back is a bit of an adjustment. He has to admit, it had been interesting experiencing life’s Crowley’s shoes. And in Crowley’s leather jacket. Mmmmm. He definitely feels a certain fondness for that leather jacket.

He can’t help but feel the satisfaction of a job well done; they’d pulled it off. 

They'd succeeded, despite all the forces of Heaven and Hell arraigned against them. He realises now that this is the way it has always been; the two of them against, not the world, but against Heaven and Hell. But somehow, not against God. That’s a constant source of wonder to him; She has not abandoned him, even though he failed the archangels and almost succeeded in bringing about the Apocalypse.

And he fell in love with a demon. 

He can admit it now, in the privacy of his own mind. He’s in love with Crowley, and maybe he always has been. And there’s nothing Heaven can do about it. He and Crowley have successfully scared them off. They won’t be back for a long time; Gabriel especially won’t be able to handle the humiliation of being proved wrong about the Great Plan, not to mention the difficulties that will arise as a result of having Aziraphale apparently stand protected from Hellfire; not to mention finding a demon apparently resistant to holy water. Just like that, that sense of dark satisfaction is back. 

The old Aziraphale would have felt bad about taking satisfaction from Gabriel’s misfortune, but the new (and improved) Aziraphale wishes had been the one who had _ seen their smug expressions falter and die. _ And he can’t bring himself to feel bad. 

Presently he has a new thought, no doubt inspired by Crowley: they deserved it. 

Michael and Gabriel; all the angels who put him down constantly, picked at his insecurities, threatened him- threatened  _ Crowley;  _ they all deserved the upheaval of the status quo. They deserved to feel insecure and afraid. For what they’ve done to him, and for what they threatened to do to the place he’s come to call home. 

As he acknowledges it, he also has to acknowledge that it’s not a new thought. He’s had it a million times, a million different ways, but he’s always shoved it away for fear of being punished. 

But now he can think and say and do anything he wants, and what he wants is to spend time with Crowley. 

“Can I tempt you to a spot of lunch?” 

He can’t help his delighted wriggle at that, and he takes a moment to appreciate the familiarity of being in his own body again. 

“Temptation accomplished.”

When they finally dine at the Ritz, and Aziraphale doesn’t know why he didn’t do this centuries earlier. The pleasure of just spending time with Crowley, minus the pressure of Heaven and Hell waiting to descend, is overwhelming. He feels refreshed, and alive. Not just surviving, but thriving. And later, when they say goodbye, they both pause to delight in the knowledge that it isn’t for the last time. Nothing can separate them now. Not ever, ever again. Maybe he’ll give Crowley a call tomorrow, just because he can. 

\--

The Apocalypse was averted, Heaven and Hell have been scared off, but Aziraphale’s emotions are running high. He lies in bed, mind racing, unable to fall asleep. It’s been a few days since he and Crowley finally dined at the Ritz, but by mutual unspoken agreement they’ve decided to spend a few days doing nothing but relaxing. They both need some quiet time to decompress after all the stress of the last eleven years. Hell, after the last 6000 years. 

Though technically he doesn’t really need to sleep, he feels he deserves it in the wake of all the stress of the apocalypse-that-wasn't.

But now that he’s embraced his humanity, it seems he’s also embraced the very human affliction of insomnia. Too much has happened recently; after questioning everything he’s ever known about the ineffable plan and finally gaining the courage to stand against Gabriel and Heaven, he feels wide awake.

He and Crowley swapped their bodies back hours ago, but he still feels a little out of place. It’s as if something has shifted slightly during the swap. Which is entirely understandable, really. An angel and demon swapping bodies? Unprecedented. Bound to have some strange side effects. But if they’d taken the time to research possible side effects, Aziraphale might have chickened out. 

Speaking of Crowley, the demon has been acting… just a little differently since the Apocalypse didn’t happen. Not that he can Aziraphale can blame him; everything since he embraced humanity and completely threw his lot in with Crowley has seemed irrevocably changed. Maybe even ineffably. He thinks back to that night, the moments before they swapped bodies. The plan had been his, but Crowley had agreed almost immediately...

_ Aziraphale explained what he thought Agnes meant in her last prophecy. Crowley listened intently to the whole plan, and finally nodded. The plan was sound, and it meant spending more time with Aziraphale, which Crowley was all for. No Heaven, no Hell, no one in their way. Just him and Aziraphale, the way it always should have been.  _

Aziraphale sits up in bed with a start. 

That… isn’t his memory. Obviously (somehow) it’s Crowley’s. 

But how can that be possible? 

He shakes his head at his own foolishness. To the best of his knowledge, no angel and demon have ever swapped bodies before. If there had been more time to research the possible consequences of swapping bodies… but they’d had no choice, if they'd wanted to survive the combined wrath of Heaven and Hell. 

He’ll bring it up the next time he sees the demon; hopefully Crowley will be passing through the area again in the next couple of years. 

Wait. 

He sits up in sudden realisation, blinking into the quiet of his bedroom. 

He doesn’t need to do that anymore. 

He doesn’t need to wait until they ‘accidentally’ bump into each other. 

No more plausible deniability.

There is no more 'my side' versus 'his side'.

_ Our side.  _ The words echo in his head, and his heart starts to beat faster. 

He can call Crowley whenever he wants. 

They can have breakfast, lunch, and dinner all in the same day and no one can stop them. He suppresses an urge to laugh out loud in pure joy.

He lies back down and resolves to call Crowley in the morning.

\--

They meet for brunch the next day in one of the many little cafes situated in nooks around London. Aziraphale has been meaning to investigate their apparently exquisite lemon meringue tarts; why not kill two birds with one stone, so to speak? Crowley, too, seems to be revelling in their newfound freedom. 

Though for some reason he seems a little twitchy, as well. He is a little jumpy and Aziraphale would swear he actually sees the hint of a blush once, when their hands touch as he passes Crowley a menu. 

He waits until after they’ve (well. he) finished eating to bring up his question. He doesn't see the point in potentially spoiling a good meal with a lively discussion, nor does he want to get so distracted from enjoying the new dessert that he fails to enjoy it properly.

Finally, he dabs his lips with the napkin. He can’t put off the asking any longer.

"Crowley," he begins, getting the demons' attention. Crowley looks at him strangely, obviously catching something in his tone.

"Have you noticed anything... different, after our body swap?"

_ Clink _ !

He looks down to see that Crowley has accidentally dropped his spoon into his tea. 

The demon sputters at the tea droplets that are now splattered over his sleeves, to which Aziraphale responds by chuckling and miracling the stain away. "How do you mean, different?" Crowley asks casually, as he fiddles with the bottom of his sleeve. Too casually. 

On closer inspection... that's definitely a blush! Why would Crowley be blushing? He’s never seen Crowley blush. He didn’t even know demons could blush. 

"Well..." Aziraphale continues, aware that he hasn't fully got a read on the situation. Hopefully this conversation will prove enlightening. "I was thinking about the Apocalypse, and what we did when we swapped, and I noticed a memory that didn’t quite fit. It had to have been your memory. I think I may have accidentally kept some of your thoughts and feelings after we swapped bodies."

Crowley blinks in that curiously serpentine way of his, in a way that's obvious even behind his dark eye glasses. 

"Now that you mention it..." He trails off slowly. "It's possible I have noticed something like that, yeah." 

He looks almost embarrassed, Aziraphale notes with some confusion. 

What could Crowley possibly have to feel embarrassed about?

Then the pit of his stomach sinks. If he saw some of Crowley's memories.... could the opposite be true? 

He tries to search Crowley's face for hints of what he's thinking, but his eyes are, as always while in public, hidden by dark glasses. Did Crowley see something of his, Aziraphales’, thoughts? What would it mean if he did? Well, it would probably depend on exactly what it was that Crowley saw. 

Inside his mind; the one place where Aziraphale thought he was safe from Heaven or Hell. He'd tried so hard not to leave any incriminating evidence (wiping the dust patterns left in his bookstore by a snake sunning himself; furiously erasing any trace of the demon from his home and person.) The one place he never thought to scrub clean of evidence was his own mind. 

His treacherous mind, which is now frantically cycling through his firmly locked vault of Crowley Thoughts. He’s never quite been able to deal with those thought crimes consciously, so he’s locked it all away. 

Thoughts about how much he enjoys spending time with Crowley, talking to him, breaking bread (literally and figuratively) with him. The warm feeling in the pit of his stomach when Crowley smirks. The warm, possessive feeling slightly lower down when he convinces Crowley to try a dessert and the demon makes a tiny, satisfied noise in the back of his throat. 

Now Aziraphale feels himself blushing slightly. 

Then Crowley speaks, disrupting Aziraphale’s thought process. 

“I’ve been thinking… I’d like to try something.” 

Aziraphale pauses. 

“Um. Alright?” He trusts Crowley. Doesn’t he? 

Crowley gestures for Aziraphale to reach across the table, and when he does, hesitantly, Crowley grabs his hand and links their fingers together. 

Now, normally Aziraphale would be noticing all the little details of touching Crowley. The slightly cooler, dry skin, the pressure of a hand against his, all the tiny little things that make physical contact so distracting. 

Right now, though, that pales in comparison to the maelstrom of emotions and memories overwhelming him. 

Didn’tyouhaveaflamingsword?Igaveit **away** _ ANGEL _ thereisno _ our _ side

And on top of it all was something that felt like a heat, a flame, a fire blazing into an inferno with every touch, every look, every accidental meeting. 

Reeling, Aziraphale pulled their hands apart. “What…what was  _ that _ ?” 

Crowley looked tired. “Just something I’ve been working on since we saw each other last.”

Aziraphale blinks, still overwhelmed by the intensity of the last few minutes. He could feel the foreign memories and emotions settling in his mind, finding comfortable places. The strange dichotomy of his and what can only be Crowley’s memories is… an awful lot to suddenly be trying to absorb.

Crowley is pulling back a little. Not outwardly obvious, perhaps, but given how well Aziraphale knows him, after all these years, it stands out. Crowley sits up straighter, no longer leaning into the space between them. His thoughts retract back into his own head so fast Aziraphale feels the loss keenly, and he instinctively reaches back across the table to cross that space. He grabs Crowley’s hand back, and opens his own mind. 

A smile creeps back onto Crowley’s face, and Aziraphale lets the affection he feels at seeing that smile leak through the telepathic bond between them. He feels closer to Crowley than he’s ever felt to anyone else, and he gives him a solemn nod. He isn’t quite sure what he’s confirming, but he sees (and more importantly, feels) Crowley’s own acceptance of whatever is happening. 

Without looking away, Aziraphale motions for the waiter to bring the check. 

Then, to Crowley; “Perhaps we should retreat to a more private location?”

Crowley smirks and throws several bills on the table. 

“Way ahead of you, angel.” And he pulls Aziraphale to his feet. 

\- - -

Aziraphale feels like he can't breathe. He’s pressed against one of his own bookshelves (the cafe was closer to his residence than Crowley’s) and Crowley’s tongue is swirling around Aziraphale’s fingers. It makes him think of the way Aziraphale enjoys an ice lolly on a hot day, and he feels a bit faint at the idea that Crowley is drawing that same parallel. That Crowley has watched him enjoying an ice lolly and thought about doing this. With him. 

He's overwhelmed by sensation, only for that feeling to increase the next second when Crowley’s eyes meet his and an image flashes into his mind: Crowley on his knees swirling his tongue around something else…. The feelings only intensify when he realises that particular fantasy originated in Crowley’s mind.

And suddenly it’s not enough- all their brief meetings, and their sneaking around, and just barely grazing each others skin with fingertips only to pull away and pretend it didn’t happen. 

Maybe it never was enough, not really. But it’s all over now; the walls have come down. Aziraphale can’t get enough of feeling Crowley under his hands, and Crowley is returning the favour with equal fervour. They pull at each other’s clothing, caught up in trying to kiss and undo buttons at the same time. Finally, Aziraphale pulls back long enough to mutter a quick “drat” against Crowley’s lips, and miracles all their clothing away. Never mind that it was his second best fitted suit. Crowley barely pauses before returning to his mission of mouthing across every inch of Aziriphale’s skin. And oh, the skin contact. Waves of heady desire wash over both of them, and Aziraphale can’t tell where Crowley’s desire ends and his begins. 

It isn’t quite enough, though. He still needs more. More of Crowley. More of everything. Efforts redoubled by the lack of clothing barrier, Aziraphale runs his hands up and down Crowley’s body, pulling him closer. It may not be physically possible for their human bodies to get much closer, but that’s not going to stop him from trying. He feels Crowley against him, hardness pressing against his, and feels his mouth water. They’ve changed position for easier access; they’re lying on the rug now, the plush rug Aziraphale had bought twenty years ago that was softer than most everything in the world. Crowley is under him, grinding upward so hard Aziraphale swears he can see sparks. 

Crowley chooses that moment to send another image, this time of Aziraphale stretching him open and pushing inside him. Aziraphale can’t help but groan in response. “Do you want me to-”

Before he can finish his sentence, Crowley is already guiding Aziraphale’s hand down his body, further and further, until he can slip a finger inside. 

Now it’s Crowley’s turn to bite off a moan, and Aziraphale smiles triumphantly and crooks his finger a little, at the same time performing a small miracle. 

Crowley mewls and grinds down against his hand, and Aziraphale adds two more fingers. Crowley is nice and open now, as open as if Aziraphale had spent hours preparing him. And he wants to do that, too, sometime  — he wants to do everything — but for right now he just wants, and wants, and wants. 

And Crowley is willing and ready to give it to him. 

He pulls his fingers out, and revels in the small noise Crowley makes at the loss. 

Almost instantly though, he’s replaced his fingers with another part of his anatomy. He glides right in, and Crowley is open and welcoming. 

He pauses for a moment, intending to see how Crowley is going, but the demon hooks his ankles around Aziraphale’s back, impaling himself on Aziraphale’s dick much faster than the angel would have suggested. He has half a mind to pull back and insist on checking in, but Crowley just clings tighter and mutters, “Don’t you dare.” 

So Azriaphale pulls out a little, then thrusts back in, just slowly, to test it. 

Crowley claws at his back, pulling him even closer. After a few more thrusts, they develop a rhythm, a give and take motion that brings them even closer together. And it’s somehow relaxing, to finally be able to completely, physically let down their guard with each other, after millenia of having to keep their distance. 

They’re intertwined, and Aziraphale can’t tell where his body ends and Crowley’s begins. Still, he craves more. Crowley pauses their rhythm for a moment, clearly concentrating on something. Before Aziraphale can ask what he’s doing, he’s flooded with emotions and sensations. He gasps at how his senses seem to have doubled; he’s feeling everything they’re both feeling. He feels Crowley’s wonder and the name of the intense, burning feeling flowing between them crystallizes in his mind; love. 

He can put a name to it now. 

Waves of emotion are washing over him, leaving him reeling. What’s more, he  _ knows  _ that Crowley feels the same. He can feel it.

Crowley digs his heels into Aziraphale’s back, and Aziraphale feels Crowley’s intense  _ need  _ for them to be closer. He pulls back out and thrusts back in, and they both cry out. All their senses are magnified, and Aziraphale at once feels the tightness of Crowley and the satiated feeling of being filled. Their rhythm starts up again, faster than before, until Aziraphale is slamming into him. Their shared pleasure reaches dizzying peaks, crashing down and then rising again like ocean waves. They climb higher and higher, all of it finally, ineffably, together. 

They feel the ripples of their shared orgasm start at the same time, ascending to that final, dizzying peak- then finally fell over the edge together, clinging together as they did so. 

Their emotions are so strong they paint the air surrounding them with broad strokes, filling the room with colours. The entire spectrum is visible, including several colours Aziraphale knows are invisible to human eyes.

They come down from their high slowly. Rather than pulling apart immediately, they stay intertwined. Some amount of time later- seconds, minutes, hours, Aziraphale can’t tell- he pulls out of Crowley, sighing at the feeling of being separated. Crowley rolls over, giving him a satisfied smirk as he reaches down and miracles away the mess they’ve created. 

Even ethereal beings need refractory periods, especially after the culmination of mutual pining. So they lie there, together, and Aziraphale enjoys the novel sensation of being able to relax completely. No fear of Heaven breaking down the door. No one can ever take this, take Crowley, from him ever again. 


	4. Epilogue- Ineffable

“I’ve always been rather useless as an angel, truthfully.”

They’re sitting on the verandah of their shared cottage, drinking tea in the setting sun. If Aziraphale’s tea contains a dash of something stronger than leaves, and if Crowley’s tea isn’t flavoured with sugar, let alone that awful sweetener specially invented by denizens of Hell...well. No one ever has to know, except the two of them.

The non-sequitur isn’t all that unusual- often either Crowley or Aziraphale will bring up something that’s bothering them, or some puzzle piece of the mystery surrounding Adam or the Apocalypse they haven’t considered before. Then they talk it out. Usually between the two of them, they can find a solution. Then again, they’ve always made a good team.

“What? That’s not true at all. Who told you that?”

“Gabriel always said so. I could never do anything right in his eyes. He wasn’t wrong, though I hate to admit it; I screwed everything up.” He ducks his head to hide his face, unable to look at Crowley. “And I almost got you killed.”

"But you didn't. And almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."

Crowley doesn’t want to hear anything more about Gabriel, or Michael, or Uriel, or any of the other useless excuses for angels and their opinions on Aziraphale, not to mention the million and one ways Aziraphale  _ still _ excuses their crappy behaviour. It’s not right that someone as amazing as his angel has spent all these Millenia in the shadow of those self righteous pricks. And he refuses to allow those jerks to keep real estate in his angel’s psyche.

“Listen to me, Aziraphale. Those dicks wouldn’t know their asses from a hole in the ground, even if you gave them a diagram. They were wrong about you. Just like they’ve always been wrong, about literally everything, since the dawn of time. The ineffable plan, remember?”

Aziraphale gives him a look, and Crowley finds himself flashing back to the angel's memories. He can sense the constant guilt and terror Aziraphale lived with, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for 6000 years. 

Those memories mix with his own memories, going back thousands of years, of going through his own version of the same thing. They spent thousands of years under intense pressure, and finally they’ve been released as the precious gems they’ve become. 

He knows it’s not going to be easy to convince Aziraphale he’s not who the Archangels made him out to be, but he has to do it. Crowley is all too aware of the scars Hell left on himself, and he can’t have his angel undergo the same thing. He can’t let Aziraphale think he’s not worth every good thing in the world. In the universe. He resolves, every day, to tell Aziraphale how amazing he is. As many times as it takes.

And then he does. 

Over and over again, until Aziraphale starts to believe it. 

And that’s how they continue, bringing out the best in each other, for the rest of their very, very long lives. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Good Omens Big Bang (2019). Amazing art by @pangeeastarseed.


End file.
